The Importance of a Name
by Saint Mirror
Summary: Bones couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his first name...


A/N: Wasn't sure if I should post this. Bones is very special to me, so I wanted to write something special for him. He and the rest of the crew were a huge part of my childhood, and I want to do him justice.

Disclaimer: I don't own.

The Importance of a Name

Leonard McCoy couldn't remember the last time he heard anyone use his first name. If he forced himself to think way before he endless missions only broken up by an even more enduring boredom and loneliness, he thought the last person might have been his daughter.

It would have been before he left for Starfleet Academy; right after the divorce was final but before his new ex-wife kicked him out. She was six years old, and he vividly remembered her innocent laughter tinkling passed his ears and lifting him from the overwhelming depression he was slowly sinking into. The day was one of those Georgia scorchers that made your skin feel like it was melting like wax, but he loved the way the Georgia sun always set Joanna's chocolate brown hair (hair she inherited from him along with all her features except her eyes) to glowing.

She had been smiling at him, his great-granddaddy's ancient stethoscope draped around her neck, and she was almost swallowed up by one of his white button down shirts. They had been laughing together as she insisted he call her Doctor Joanna, and of course he did, contentedly submitting to her tender mercies. "Daddy," she had said after commenting on how hard his liver was (though how said organ found its way into his calf he wasn't sure), "what's your doctor name?"

He remembered scowling slightly, no doubt recalling his ruined medical practice, before smiling sweetly and saying, "Why they call me Doctor McCoy, of course." She had scowled (his scowl on her perfect face) at him, twining her little fingers in his thick leg hair and yanking slightly. "So Daddy's name is McCoy?" He'd laughed and kissed her forehead. "It sure is, baby. It's your name, too."

"No way, Daddy. My name is Joanna, not McCoy!" He remembered how a great laugh had rumbled up from his small intestines (making him think, if only for a moment, that he had serious gas), curved up and around his ribs and tinkled out of his throat and mouth, delighting his young daughter. "Oh, darlin' your last name is McCoy, just like mine." Understanding had dawned on her sweet little face like a miniature sun rising over the horizon. "Oh I get it, Daddy. Then what's Daddy's first name?"

He had, at this point, scooped her up and swung her around, feeling his anger and sorrow fade to nothing as her squeals of joy warmed his heart. "My first name is Leonard, baby girl." She had cocked her head to the side and slowly sounded his name out, smiling as she pronounced it correctly. "I like that, Daddy. People should call you that all the time!"

That was five years ago, and he could honestly say he hadn't heard it from anyone else since. He hadn't even heard it from Jim, and they were supposedly the best of friends. In fact, on the day they met and Leonard introduced himself, several hours later Jim had said, "Ya know, I don't think I like your name. Doesn't seem to fit you. I know – I'll call you Bones after the only thing you've got left," and from then on, he was known as Bones to all and sundry. Hell even Spock had been known to let the nickname slip out of that logical mouth of his on occasion when he wasn't subtly insulting his intelligence.

So now he sat, butt barely perched on the edge of one of his biobeds (and he didn't care what Jim said – Sickbay was his, damnit), staring vacantly at his semi-curled hands. Lately the absence of his name bothered him more than usual. He found himself flinching when someone called out, "Hey, Bones!" though now he could mask his reaction, and when Spock or Christine called him Doctor McCoy it set his teeth on edge.

He was introspective enough to know that he had a serious problem. It wasn't healthy for him to be bottling up how he felt, but the negative physical reaction he was having every time someone addressed him seemed much worse than repression to his psychologist's mind. Leonard also noticed that he sunk into thoughtful, almost meditative, states that he found it increasingly difficult to rouse from more and more frequently, and sometimes he fell into them in some very inconvenient places. Jim had been talking to him, and he knew it was important (something about an unfortunate rash on a certain Captain's testicles that was starting to spread), but as soon as Jim called him Bones, Leonard got to thinking of that last time anyone but himself (which he would whisper in the quiet of his lonely quarters when he started to forget what his name was) had said his first name, and it took Jim violently shaking him to pull him out of his own dark thoughts.

"Doctor McCoy. Doctor McCoy." A calm monotone voice gently dislodged him from his trip down memory lane. Len slowly dragged his eyes away from his flexing hands and let them rip themselves apart on the razorblade edges of Spock's body. The Vulcan was studying him with endlessly dark eyes set in a slightly pale green face made of stone. Len smirked.

"Well this is a surprise – you don't willingly darken my doorstep. Is someone hurt on the Bridge?" Spock (who had not ventured further than the door) silently approached him. Leonard heaved himself off the biobed and strode toward his office. He didn't know what the hobgoblin wanted, but he did know that Spock wouldn't want to be overheard.

Inside the door of his office, Spock stopped and once again swept dark eyes over Leonard's office. Len, who was used to Spock doing this any time the Vulcan found a reason to come in, ignored him in favor of collapsing into his comfy chair. When it seemed that Spock finally decided that, yes, everything was the way it was last time he graced Leonard's office, Len leaned back in his chair and drawled, "What seems to be on that logical mind of yours, Mr. Spock?"

There seemed to be a slight hesitation before Spock gave one small nod and said, "Yes, Doctor. For the past six months, three days and ten hours, I have noticed a decline in your normal behavior." A feeling of hysteria threatened to consume him. A small chuckle escaped him as he considered Spock's unspoken query. It made a funny sort of sense that Spock would be the one to notice his angst.

"Ya noticed that, huh? I guess you woulda." Spock inclined his head and said, "Then I presume you know the reason for your decline." Leonard shrugged and rose, going to his bookshelf and idly stroking the spines of his ancient medical textbooks.

"Did you know that it's been five years, seven months and, uh, sixteen hours since I last heard anyone say my first name?" Behind him, Spock was silent. Leonard ran his finger down the worn spine of a book on basic human anatomy and continued, "I realized that six months ago, and it…well hell it surprised me. All these years I've been getting by on being Bones, and…I'm just sick of it."

He heard Spock quietly shift his weight forward. The silence between them was so complete that Len imagined he could hear Spock's heart thrumming through his side. "Doctor," the Vulcan's deep voice said so suddenly that Len flinched, "does the lack of your first name in your daily life cause you to feel less of a person?"

Leonard startled the Vulcan (who would rather die than admit that) by laughing long and loud, though there was no humor in the sound. He turned to face Spock, smiling when he saw how the First Officer's eyebrows had risen into the edges of his silly haircut.

"Oh sweet Jesus. I shoulda known you'd be the one to understand me, Mr. Spock." Len watched those slanted Vulcan eyebrows return to their accustomed places as Spock's expressionless face took on an unusual non-expression. Those dark eyes bored into him, seeing past his mask of blood and bone and into his vulnerable soul. He twitched.

"Leonard." There was a curious note in Spock's voice as he sounded out Len's name. It sounded like the Vulcan was eating his name, savoring the separate syllables as they rolled off his tongue. Huh.

"What are you doing, Mr. Spock?" The Vulcan cocked his eyebrows, and Len felt the usual almost unbearable urge to smack the living hell out of the smug Vulcan. Of course he suppressed it: doctors don't hit people. "I would have thought it obvious, Leonard," Spock's voice took on the same lecturing tone he generally used on Jim when he was especially excited about his latest harebrained idea. It made Len simultaneously want to laugh at the strangeness of the situation and bear hug the life out of Spock for the unexpected kindness he was doing him.

"The overall health and safety of the crew are your responsibilities – ones that you cannot adequately perform if you are at anything less than your best," here Spock stopped and ran critical eyes down Len's form in such a way that made him quite sure the Vulcan was only confirming his sorry state.

"I cannot knowingly allow you to continue in this manner when the solution is so simple." The latter urge to hug the life out of Spock was beginning to overpower him, and he could just imagine the reaction he'd get were he to actually act on the impulse. Luckily for Spock, Len was able to suppress the urge until his only reaction was a thin smile and a quiet, "Whatever floats yer boat, Mr. Spock." Spock studied him for a moment longer before giving one nearly imperceptible nod.

"Very well, Leonard. Now that an achievable solution to your performance issue has been discovered, I will return to my duties," Spock said (rather needlessly Len thought, slightly bemused, as he watched the Vulcan make his way out of Sickbay) in the overly formal tone Len was used to having directed his way.

Len leaned against the doorway casually, fascinated by the strange lightheartedness that was beginning to fill up all his empty spaces. Maybe he was getting sick?

"Don't be a stranger, Mr. Spock. I'd love to get a look at yer insides," Len managed to call out as Spock was exiting. Len barely managed to suppress his smile when Spock stopped in his tracks. Spock cocked his head slightly, and Len could have sworn he saw a slight smile on that stone face. He must have imagined it.

'Perhaps, Leonard, and while we are at it, perhaps we could work on your accent. It is most unfortunate." The doors slid shut with a quiet hiss, effectively blocking Len's shocked expression. After a moment, Len found himself chuckling. For the first time in a long while, it was genuine.

"That damn hobgoblin," Len said, shaking his head incredulously, "maybe there's hope for us both yet."

-End-


End file.
